


dear dearest of mine: i hope you know

by Anonymous



Series: listen, hum softly; hear the wind whistle its calming tune [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, DSMP, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jschlatt (minor mention), M/M, Massage, Multi, Time Travelling Karl Jacobs, Very Lightly Implied Gore, go help ur single dad q + housewife, karl out there partying in the inbetween, quackity sole breadwinner......?, sapnap housewife arc, slight blood and injury, upper torso nudity idk its a massage guys its a ma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-23 19:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30060441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Quackity relaxes when Sapnap kneads his fingers right at the knots in his muscles. In this proximity, it’s intimate without being sexual. His shirt and jacket are already strewn messily on the floor, discarded like trash (for they are rendered useless, insignificant) when Sapnap leans over his bare back and his gentle rhythmic breaths skim the expanse of his skin.A bit of trauma, a bit of emotional baggage, a bit of everything; Quackity thinks he's the most selfish man in the world for wanting to take and take and take.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Alexis | Quackity/Sapnap
Series: listen, hum softly; hear the wind whistle its calming tune [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125770
Comments: 5
Kudos: 186
Collections: anonymous





	dear dearest of mine: i hope you know

_Dearest of mine:_

_You are the stars, the moon, the galaxy that extends and layers our world in a mesmerising darkness that I want to pull, wrap around like a blanket, like a magnificent cape. I yearn for the cooling touch when I grasp at the galaxy, and it will feel like one of your fluttering warm laughs reminiscent of fire, or the one where you kind of choke on your saliva and laughter erupts, spasming, through your throat._

_I love you both so so much. So much. And for this, I am sorry._

_You do so much for me. You grin and cough bubbly laughs as you flip through your precious, precious literature books, and your adorable adoration for the language is so purely written on your face as you skim your fingertips over the coarse pages. I could never rip you away from your desk when you look like that, like books are your world like you are to me. I (we, me, Sapnap) could never refuse when you told tales from your fictional stories, all excited tongue and hyperactive little stims as you narrate. Yes, I love you._

_You do so much for us. Someone has to manage the family (family? Is that what we are? I like that), and it’s definitely not Karl or me. You’re the youngest, reckless, but when you burn, just simmering, you are the world. You wrap your bandana around most of your hair (long, do you want me to cut it?). You give the little smiles and the quiet voices when you pan-fry eggs with bacon for our appetite._

_I love you, I love you, I love you. I do love you._

_It’s not you both. It’s me. I’m the shit one here._

_I love you both._

_Fucking hell, why am I writing this. You aren’t reading it anyway._

_Fuck it._

_-Q_

* * *

The bed is _cold_.

Quackity sinks into the covers, and the sheets mould to the shape of his body. The pillowcase is cool to his cheek as he tilts his cheek on its side. An involuntary sigh whistles through his chapped lips. The light from the stars spills dimly through the window, muted, calm, warm to his eyes. He’s tired, body aching all over from building the casino he’s been working on. His biceps twitch with twinges of soreness. He shifts, groans and winces a little at the burn. It’s going to hurt like a bitch.

The closed door to their shared bedroom trembles when two quiet knocks rebound through the wood, quick in succession.

Quackity groans for him to slide in, and the doorknob jiggles, swings slightly ajar as Sapnap peeps through. His eyes spell an unspeakable emotion as they glisten, grey. The bandana hangs from behind his head, its ends trailing.

“Hey,” and he says, quiet, seeking warmth. Quackity smiles into the pillow.

“Hey.”

“Tired? You must be,” Sapnap hums. Quackity hitches himself on his elbows, drags himself slowly up, and Sapnap passes a mug of steaming liquid at his face. He takes it. The steam whirls and partially obscures his already limited vision. (He thinks Sapnap’d smiled at him, through the mist. He wishes he’d been able to memorise it without the dumb steam in his way.)

“Just a little,” he admits. His other hand comes up to support the bottom of the mug, and pressing his lips to the brim, warm liquid trickles through his parted lips and pools at the base of his throat. The liquid tastes like home.

“Good to be in bed,” he adds.

Sapnap throws his legs back over the bed, pushes his body onto the bed fully, and he’s going to rest beside Quackity. By god, of course he’s a portable heater, and Q feels his body warmth radiate beside his, feels his smallest movements in this bed too small for three grown men.

“Do you need a massage or something?” Sapnap says, and Q smiles.

“Much appreciated.”

Quackity relaxes when Sapnap kneads his fingers right at the knots in his muscles. In this proximity, it’s intimate without being sexual. His shirt and jacket are already strewn messily on the floor, discarded like trash (for they are rendered useless, insignificant) when Sapnap leans over his bare back and his gentle rhythmic breaths skim the expanse of his skin. The beat is off – his fingers push in a millisecond after his warm breath puffs out – but Quackity cannot _really_ bring himself to care. The massage feels good on his muscles and the duvet is warmed from Sapnap’s natural body heat.

“Karl?” Quackity murmurs into the pillowcase. His shoulder glances slightly against the covers with the motion of Sapnap’s oddly nimble hands.

And really, he can’t tell what Sapnap’s feeling, actually, because one of his ears is shoved into the pillow, “No Karl today. It’s just me”, uttered with a soft laugh.

Quackity does not say “When is he coming back, then?”. Quackity does not say “Do you know where he goes?”. Because it is a futile effort, and Sapnap is nothing but clueless about Karl’s strange ventures to nowhere. If he actually goes somewhere at all.

It’s silent for a while. Sapnap keeps his lips sealed, and the pure focus is doing that massage. Quackity’s eyes slip closed.

Maybe Sapnap assumed that he’d fallen asleep, because the strength of his touch dwindles as time drags on. (Sapnap avoids the twin scars on his back) Q keeps his eyes shut.

(He tries to memorise the push and pull of Sapnap’s hands and the meld of his hands on his skin and his warmth and everything about his presence and the way he’s grown to love him after the hurried decision of marriage after a fight over Karl)

Sapnap starts whispering to his supposedly asleep body.

“I wish you didn’t start that casino or something, you know. Maybe we could spend more time together. Now that Karl’s… somewhere. I don’t know, dude.” Sapnap huffs a laugh felt on his skin. His fingers twitch on his back. “Kinda worried. I rarely even see him now – that’s ridiculous at this point.”

“I… _miss_ you, dude. Goddamn. I am clingy. You’re literally here, and I’m saying that I miss you. Idiot. I kinda wish—” Sapnap audibly swallows, shifts behind him. “…Nevermind.”

The hands stop, and in all its ridicule Quackity wants to sit up, wants to pout and demand for him to continue, or _you’re out the gang, bitch_. He just so barely restrains himself. His hand on the duvet twitches so slightly he thinks Sapnap couldn’t have noticed.

“I guess I feel like I’m the sole thing keeping this place together.” Sapnap continues, after a heavy pause. The pads of his fingers dig in lightly. “None of you are home. Did you both grow out of me? Just tell me, you know, I’ll change and shit. I don’t know. Just—” Sapnap inhales. Q feels his hands shake just for a moment. “Please? Please don’t… leave?”

Sapnap laughs self-depravingly. It’s a little like the sharp edge of a broken wine bottle on metal. “I sound pathetic.”

Q screws his eyes tighter. He really _can’t_ face this shit, all the emotional baggage Sapnap’s been lugging, (and it’s his fault, his fault; he is a horrible, _horrible_ person,) and he’s a coward. He won’t sit up, won’t smile lightly and wrap his arms around his fiancé. Because he’s a _coward_.

(All he knows is to take and take and _take_ until everyone around him is drained from giving and he cannot do even one thing right for once.)

“But, you know, it isn’t your fault, hot stuff,” Sapnap’s voice pauses with a funky upward intonation as Q thinks he laughs at the nickname, “’M just really really needy. I should try and tone that one down a little.”

(But Quackity thinks it’s what makes Sapnap _Sapnap_ : it’s his unwavering possessive feelings and his natural need to protect that’s umbrellaed him and Karl so well from the effects of Tommy’s many, many wars. It’s his unadulterated _love_ for those around him that gets him up pacing, that sends adrenaline through his veins as he swings an axe furiously at a straw sack dummy that’s becoming increasingly difficult to mend. And that’s what made Quackity fall into this deep, profound, pure-at-its-roots respect and admiration. He thrives on human interaction and affection, and however touchy Q doesn’t feel like being after Schlatt’s reign, he cannot simply beseech to refuse the raw need.)

Sapnap’s twitchy fingers pause from its trailing-little-circles motion on his back. He feels Sapnap cup his head carefully, pulling it up to adjust the pillow properly under his head, carefully placing his head back, and he’s flipped over. Quackity keeps his face relaxed and the gaze under his dark eyelids steady.

“Bet you see Bad more than I do. Dunno why I fell out of calling him Dad. Doesn’t feel right.” Sapnap says, more to himself (since Q is proclaimed to have fallen into the recesses of sleep) than anything. “Have you made any progress on the whole blood vine thing? I don’t know, you seemed kinda interested in finding out the source.”

Then Sapnap sighs, slurs out, “God, I’m rambling,”, and the duvet is drawn and pulled over three-fourths his body. The material drapes over his shape like feathers. (Duck feathers. Don’t think about it. Don’t.)

The beanie Quackity dons is slipped off. Sapnap’s rough thumb pushes at his bottom lip of his slightly ajar mouth. It’s not painful. (It’s comforting. Then again, everything Sapnap does ends up being comforting, so none of this is in any way an exception.)

“Good night, nimrod. Sweet dreams.” The thumb leaves his lips and skims upwards, rubs absently on the concaved scar on his eyebrow, just seeking something physical.

Then when the thumb drags and parts contact with his skin, Sapnap’s muted footsteps increase distance and the door squeaks open, and it’s when the door shuts again with a clean click that Quackity pries open his eyes and stares at the ceiling. The whirring fan overhead spins on, a blur, passive, but Quackity thinks it should’ve been yelling at him for being a shit fiancé for all he’s worth. 

He gets up, finally, and thinks, maybe I should at least keep my stuff tidy for Sap, then throws open the covers. His bare feet touch the cold floor and burn savagely. He trudges forward, retrieves his dark blue jacket from the ground where it pooled.

He realises why it’d felt so wrong, because the jacket is old, and he feels so fucking sick when twin holes, cut haphazardly on the back of the jacket, asymmetrical, stares up at him, fire to his eyeballs made of ice, and he thinks, _no, no, no_ as his throat constricts painfully and he chokes badly on his own saliva, no, no, _no, no_.

(He’s bleeding, sobbing unrestrained, clutching at yellow feathers, crying out, _I don’t wanna look, please, Schlatt, please!;_ he’s wrapping his blue jacket around him like everything will go away, like he’s a child, disgustingly naïve; the jacket comes off red on his fingertips when he presses shakily at it.)

He must have cried louder than he’d liked, because he’s shuddering and close to tears and vomiting at a fucking piece of clothing slumped pathetically on the ground in front of him when Sapnap literally busts down the door, “Are you okay?” Worried, high.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, I’m—” Quackity laughs, in tears, feeling so fucking pathetic and on edge even after their little massage session. The younger shuts him up when he draws him in with his warm arms and his hands and pushes his head into his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Quackity mumbles into his black turtleneck, the usual white shirt gone, “Sorry, it’s stupid—”

“It’s not if you’re crying about it,” Sapnap says firmly, “don’t apologise.”

“’Nks, Sapnap,” Quackity says, muffled in the clothing.

“Not a problem.” Sapnap says, and worry edges at his voice and he feels so, so guilty.

As he clutches at his back, he’s awkwardly, unabashedly grateful _, I love you, I love you,_ and it’s awash, too, with glowing guilt and the near constant awareness of the sheer size and amount of his selfishness, because all he wants is Sapnap and Karl for himself, no one else’s except each other’s.

His tears are perfect when they trail down his nose and soak into the cotton, darkens the clothing there, and for now he thinks it’s okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys it's been a month lmaoooooooooooooo creative block and school isnt a vv good combo
> 
> as always, twitter is [@mistionii](https://twitter.com/mistionii)


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